


A Spider in the Window

by havetaoque



Series: Spideypool stories [8]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hot, Identity Reveal, M/M, Making Out, Mild Smut, One-Shot, Penthouse, Secret Identity, Sexual Tension, Strip Tease, Summer, Theories, Wade knows what's up, Wet Clothing, Window Washing, Windows - Freeform, for science, heat - Freeform, high rise romance, kiss already, low key - Freeform, questionable, squeegees, suds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetaoque/pseuds/havetaoque
Summary: Peter works part-time as a window washer. He happens to be dangling outside a certain merc's new penthouse on a very hot, sweaty summer day.





	A Spider in the Window

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to say that I know nothing about window washing high rises. But it seems like a job Spider-man would be good at ;)

Peter swiped his squeegee over the window, neatly flicking away the suds. His t-shirt was plastered against his body with sweat and window cleaning fluid, which would have provided some relief from the heat if there had been a breeze. Instead, the air was still.

Peter sat a comfortable seventy stories up in the air. Dangling off buildings was his day job now too, only with cables instead of webs. He took a long drink from his gallon-sized water bottle and mopped uselessly at the sweat on his brow. It wasn’t the most exciting job, but he’d needed another source of income to help with his rent, since lately, he had been sneaking extra cash into Aunt May’s cookie jar to help her out after her fall. And, he figured, he was probably the best man for the job. Almost zero risk for him, whereas an accident for anyone else would likely be their last accident ever.

Except maybe Deadpool. Peter had found Deadpool’s hand behind a dumpster last night on his way home from work at the Bugle. He didn’t know where the merc lived or how to get in contact with him, so he brought the appendage back home, hoping to track the merc down and return it on his next patrol. It was still in his freezer.

Peter adjusted his rig and moved up to the top floor windows, hauling up his supplies and his lunch. Once he was secure, he began cleaning. The windows were larger in the penthouse. Heavy drapes obscured the interior, but that was alright with Peter. He didn’t really like it when people stared at him as he worked. If no one was watching, he sometimes clung to the window to reach corners instead of taking the time to readjust and move his safety ropes.

Peter pressed his feet to the side of the building and stood up in his harness to stretch. He arched his back, twisting side to side to work out some of the stiffness. He’d be at this particular job since five am after finishing patrol the night before around three, and his right arm was starting to ache. Wax on, wax off indeed.

The drapes over the penthouse window drew back suddenly. Peter froze, mid-stretch, and met the surprised gaze of the man inside.

He couldn’t see very far into the penthouse. The sun glare obscured almost everything and the penthouse itself was dark inside.

They stared at each other for a while until the man awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I thought you were Spidey at first, climbing around my window, and was gonna ask how you found me here ‘cause I just moved in yesterday.”

Peter kept staring. Was that? No… but those muscles...

The man continued, unfazed. “Has anyone ever told you how hot you are?” It was a little muffled through the thick glass, but Peter was pretty sure that’s what the man had said. And yeah, okay, that was definitely Deadpool.

He glanced down at his own faded Captain America t-shirt, which was still clinging wetly to him and smirked.

“It’s like ninety-six degrees out here, man. Of course I’m hot.”

Deadpool laughed, leering a little. “Oh, I like you, baby boy. Hey, you want a beer? Wait, are you even old enough to drink?” He squinted at Peter.

Peter frowned. “Yeah. I’m twenty-five. And beer would be awesome. Just let me finish up here first?” What are you doing, Parker?

Deadpool looked surprised. “Okay. I’ll meet you on the roof when you’re done.”

The drapes swung back over the window. Peter stared at the window for another second and shook his head, taking up his cleaning equipment again to wash down the windows. So what if he used his Spider powers a little finish up sooner?

A few minutes later, Peter hauled himself onto the roof. Deadpool, fully suited now, was already there, waiting in the shade of a little lean-to made out of what looked like old bed sheets and a harpoon. Peter also noticed two beers and a plate of tacos.

“So what’s with the suit? You must be boiling in that thing,” Peter said, walking over toward the welcoming shade. He sank down next to Deadpool and made a face, pulling his wet shirt away from his body uselessly. “Sorry, I’m so gross right now.”

“Don’t sweat it, babe – ha ha, get it?” Deadpool held out a cold beer. Peter laughed and took it gratefully, popping off the cap with his thumb in one deft motion. Deadpool’s mask did a raised-eyebrows shift.

Peter took a long pull from the bottle and sighed happily, tilting his head back to lean against the wall. “That hit the spot.”

Deadpool was staring at his throat. “You’re one weird kid.”

Peter frowned. “How am I weird? And don’t call me a kid. You’re can’t be that much older than me.”

Deadpool shrugged. “Most people just don’t accept drinks from masked strangers on rooftops.”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re just strange,” Peter said before his brain caught up with his mouth and he remembered that this wasn’t a Spider-man/Deadpool thing. It was a Peter Parker/Deadpool thing. Two decidedly separate things.

“Uh, right,” Deadpool said, a bit uncertainly. “Well, what I meant was more the whole un-aliving people thing. You have heard of me, haven’t you?”

Peter nodded, ignoring Deadpool’s attempts at self-sabotage, and taking another sip of his beer. Maybe this was his chance to get to know him better. Deadpool flirted shamelessly with Spidey, but Spider-man was also Deadpool’s role model, and Peter wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the sort of power he had over the merc when it came the possibility of being friends in-costume.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said aloud, when Deadpool didn’t reply.

“Oh. Well, uh, taco?”

“Nah, I brought my lunch. But thanks.”

They ate in silence for a while. It was so much nicer in the shade with a cold drink. His water bottle had gotten warm not long after the sun came up and warm water was just disgusting, especially on a day this hot. Peter’s shirt was starting to dry, but his boxers still clung to his thighs uncomfortably beneath his jeans.

He watched Deadpool out of the corner of his eye. The man’s mask was pulled up over his nose, but he kept his face angled away from Peter as he ate. They finished their lunches and Deadpool began talking about teacup pigs and submarines.

Peter interrupted him, nudging him with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “My name’s Peter.”

“Wade,” Deadpool said softly. He tentatively shook Peter’s outstretched hand.

Peter noticed then that Wade had grown a new hand. Was it bad manners to throw out an old hand? He should probably return it just to be on the safe side. Protecting DNA and all that. Who knew, maybe Wade had a freezer-filled collection of his old body parts lying around somewhere. Ew.

“Do you clean the windows on his building a lot?”

“I just go where I’m assigned. It’s a part-time job, but it’s pretty relaxing when it’s not so hot out.”

“Bit of an adrenaline junkie, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“That you find washing windows and swinging around high rises relaxing. You could fall to a very gore-filled death at any time! It’s not fun. I’ve fallen off more than my share of tall buildings. Splat. Like an abstract sidewalk Banksy but bloodier. But I just grow back. You don’t look like you’d survive a seventy-story fall unless you can fly or something. Hey is this a wing-fic? Do you have wings, Petey?”

“No? What the hell,” Peter said, laughing. “That’d be cool though, to be able to fly. But yeah, no, I don’t know. I’m not scared of heights. I wouldn’t do this job if I were. Kind of makes you appreciate life, knowing it could end at any time.”

“Hm,” Wade said.

Peter mentally kicked himself. That had been insensitive when he _knew_ about Deadpool’s inability to die.

“I mean, it’s a rush, looking down and seeing everything so small below you, but then you’re secure in your harness so you can just look at everybody from way up here.” Peter was rambling, trying to fix his previous comment. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he said. “I thought looking down on everything would make me feel lonelier, and sometimes it does, but mostly it reminds me how connected we all are. Up here, you can see the big picture, and I don’t know, it’s stupid, but it kind of gives me hope.”

“That’s some deep shit, baby boy. Spider-man-level deep.” Wade chuckled.

Peter barely managed not to choke on his beer.

Wade went back to rambling and quietly singing to himself. Peter stretched and slid a little closer to Wade. If Wade noticed, he didn’t say anything, but his hand slid a little closer to Peter’s.

A breeze picked up, shifting the sheet of the harpoon lean-to back and forth.

A flock of geese flew overhead, honking, but all Peter could hear was his own heart beating a little too fast.

“I should probably go and take a cold shower,” Peter said, after a few tense minutes passed.

“Okay,” Wade said, smirking. “See you around, Petey.”

 

 

Peter returned Wade’s hand that night. He ran into him on the roof of his favorite Mexican restaurant.

“Hey, Deadpool!”

“Hey, Spidey, how’s it hanging? I met the cutest little window washer today. I hear this noise and go to check it out, but when I pull open the curtains, there’s this fucking hot twink flexing his abs in a wet t-shirt right in front of my bedroom window. I thought it was you for a second, because who else would be crawling around by my window? Then we had a romantic sweaty lunch on the rooftop.”

“Wow,” Peter said. “That’s quite a story.”

“It’s all true! I would totally tap that. And he seemed interested too. Funny, right? Kid must be a little messed up.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Deadpool,” Peter said, shaking his head.

“I sure was hard for him. Tehe.” He elbowed Peter lightly in the ribs.

Peter definitely did not pout under his mask.

“Hey, I thought I was your baby boy.”

“No one can replace, you Spidey-dearest,” Wade cooed. “Nothing compares to your ass in spandex. I wonder what Peter’s ass would look like in spandex…Ooooh!”

Peter face-palmed into the dead hand. _Ack!_

“Oh, I have your, um, hand. I found it the other night near a dumpster, but I see you’ve regrown it already. I just didn’t want to leave it lying around.”

Deadpool took his hand in hand. “You’re like my Jack Harkness. Thanks, Spidey. Hey, why’s it so cold?”

“Uh. It was in my freezer,” Peter said, feeling slightly awkward.

 

 

Two weeks later, Peter was cleaning the windows of a very expensive hotel on another hot day. By his count, he was at the forty-first floor. It was only a little past eleven, but he’d already seen three affairs through hotel windows.

The window he was currently trying to clean with a straight, professional face was taking the brunt of some very vigorous love-making on the other side. The couple hadn’t noticed Peter, so he just kept on squeegeeing away cleaning fluid suds as quickly as possible. The man inside was pretty fit, Peter absolutely did not notice. He readjusted his pants and swiped the last of the suds off, moving on to the next window, which thankfully showcased two dying potted plants.

By one o’clock, he was almost at the top. Peter liked to finish jobs on the top floors so he could enjoy the view and relax for a while on his own.

When he’d finished, he secured his equipment to the rig and prepared to sit on the roof.

A masked red face appeared above him suddenly.

“Hiya, baby boy!”

Peter startled. “Wade! What the fuck are you doing up here? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Nice to see you too, sweetums. I’m testing out a theory of mine that’s been bothering me for a while.”

Peter was instantly wary. “What theory?”

“Oh, just this one.” Wade pulled out a machete –-

“Wade! Stop!”

\-- and chopped through Peter’s support cables.

Peter fell for a split second before he shot a web at the roof and another to catch the falling equipment, relieved he had secured everything already, or some poor New Yorker might have died from a falling squeegee.

He hung there for a moment and then glared at Wade, who had both hands pressed to his cheeks, a gleeful smile visible beneath his mask.

Peter adjusted the webbing and climbed up the side of the building, easily tossing everything onto the roof.

“WHAT THE FUCK, WADE.”

“Spidey! I knew it was you,” Wade crooned.

“You almost killed me! What if I didn’t have my web-shooters! What if your theory was wrong? What if I hadn’t been Spider-man! You would have killed an innocent person just to test something!”

“Oh relax, Petey. I knew it was you from the moment I saw you writhing outside my bedroom window in your wet t-shirt.”

“What! I wasn’t _writhing_!”

“Fine, doing a wet strip tease then. Whatever.”

“Wade!”

“Calm down, Petey-pie. I was fully prepared to rescue you if you didn’t have your web-shooters on, but you’re like a fucking boy scout. You’re always prepared! And thirdly—”

“Huh?”

“—now that you’re all worked up, I figured we could have some nice sexy times up here. I know you were interested,” he purred.

Peter deflated and sank down onto the roof. After a minute, Wade joined him.

Peter could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but he knew it wasn’t from free-falling off a high rise out of his Spider-man suit.

Peter shifted so he was facing Wade and leaned forward slowly until his lips grazed the side of Wade’s mask. “Is this okay?” he breathed. For all Wade’s flirtation, Peter knew he was still deeply insecure.

Wade shivered and nodded.

“Use your words, Wade.”

“Y-yes, Peter.”

Peter slid his hands onto Wade’s shoulders and climbed into his lap, thighs bracketing Wade’s hips.

“Fuck, Petey.” Wade’s hands trembled as he placed them on Peter’s waist, but he settled when Peter pressed his open mouth against his mask-covered neck, tongue pressing firmly against the material.

Peter dragged his lips over the suit until he found the seam of the mask. He set his teeth on it and pulled, but Wade jerked back.

“Mask stays on, Spidey.”

Peter nuzzled his neck. “Okay.”

He found the seam of the mask again and grinned before sliding his tongue under it, licking at the small sliver of Wade’s skin. Wade squeezed Peter’s waist reflexively, and slid his gloved hands under Peter’s shirt, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” he said. He tore off his gloves. “I just want to touch you everywhere.”

Peter moaned softly when Wade dragged his bare hands over his back, fingers dipping below the waistband of his pants.

“We’re doing this all backwards,” Peter said. He pressed their foreheads together, looking into the white eyes of Wade’s mask. “I’d like to get to know you properly.”

“Am I dreaming?”

Peter shook his head and kissed him through the mask, pressing his tongue forward until he felt Wade’s on the other side of the fabric. Wade reached down, sliding his hands into Peter’s pants to grab his ass and pull him tight against him.

“Wade,” Peter moaned into his mouth.

“I got you, baby boy.”

Wade withdrew his hands and replaced them on Peter’s thighs, rubbing slowly, thumbs kneading his flesh, closer and closer. Peter rocked against him with a slow, languid movement that matched the drowsy heat of the city pulsing below them.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
